Respite my ass!
    I'm grinning as I type that headline, up there. Actually, it is more of a help than I can express to have the care home taking care of Mom, and I have absolutely no qualms about the job they are doing or the way Mom is reacting to this minor, intermittent (because, so far, I've been there a fair to good amount every day) separation. But, whoa Nelly! So much to do!
    Not having to take care of Mom directly is allowing my brain to continually recycle everything that's happening so that I catch, I think, everything I need to act on, question, change, you know, whatever. As well, I am getting plenty of sleep, as the need arises, managing to slowly but surely return calls as they come through, think of and follow up on items and ideas that will help Mom remain comfortable and feeling as secure as possible over the last few days of our separation, etc. But, you know, if people who have never been caregivers to those with intense needs think that being spotted means the caregiver can sit back and relax, well, they'll realize different when their turn comes round the corner.
    Today will be a two visit day for me and Mom again; and I will try very hard to be on time. Yesterday I promised Mom I'd be back soon after her dinner, by which I meant about 1730. Scratch that! After some post-visit running around for supplies, I crashed on the couch for "a little nap" at about 1430 and awoke with a start at 1735. I needed to call yet another sister before too much more time elapsed, so I elected to do that. When I arrived at the care center at around 1900, Mom had not only remembered that I had been due long before I arrived, she'd been asking for me in a variety of ways, including calling out my name when she was in the bathroom and heard people go by the door. This didn't surprise me. I apologized profusely. I don't lie to my mother on the hope that she won't remember what I've said; thus, when I'm not going to be where she is, I tell her, and she accepts that.
    Anyway, I was forgiven, easily, but I need to be as Johnny on-the-spot as I was at the hospital, and as good as my word as I was.
    I still haven't really addressed the geometric logistics of our home except in my head and unfolding the futon couch, which I am pleased to report should serve Mom well as long as she is living room bound, and sleeping on it to bring the alleviate the "couch bump" in the mattress. It is already coming under excellent control, even though it didn't occur to me to open up the couch and sleep on it until about 0300 this morning.
    As it turns out, today and tomorrow promise to be stormy days, especially today, my favorite kind, so I'm looking forward to running around in a felicitous environment.
    I did, by the way, mention lung cancer to my mother yesterday morning, early in the morning visit when she was coughing and said that she would sure be glad when "this cold" was over. On a quick hunch I said something along the lines of, "Well, Mom, you may continue to have breathing problems here and there. You've been diagnosed with lung cancer."
    She reared to the side in her chair, fixed me with her ever famous, "Yeah, and your mother wears army boots" stare and said, "Oh, REALLLLLY!?!?"
    That was all that was said, all that was necessary, although MPS and I did a hilarious riff on this later in the evening, starting with , "Yeah, you WISH!!!" and ending with, "Okay, then, I WANT A DOG!". Whether or not she remembers or believes it is immaterial. If she does, and brings it up again, or, as her health declines further, which may or may not happen for awhile, she may become curious again, and this may lead us into yet another discussion that contains the words "lung cancer". I am placing no bets, though, on how these conversations will go or how much affect they will have on either of us. It's still her, and whatever level of health or illness she's at, and me; not her and me and lung cancer. Her lung cancer to me is simply something I will take into account as it affects our life, rather like her anemia. It's there. We'll deal with it. She is not my anemic Mom. She is my Mom with anemia. Same goes for lung cancer.
    We had an excellent intake interview with the Hospice social worker. Wonderful back and forth. Mom was not only lucid, fully engaged and thoughtful, she not only asked questions of the social worker as well as responding to his questions, I learned something very interesting about her that ties into my own life: When the social worker asked if she was afraid of anything, she responded that she is afraid of swimming because she almost drowned twice and, as an aside to me, said that [name of her brother] "had to pull [her] out twice." I was astonished. I immediately jumped in and said, "Wow, Mom, I'm afraid of swimming for exactly the same reason!" We informally, automatically clasped hands and nodded our already tight bond to yet another level of strength.
    Well, gotta go clean the kitty box, shower, and head out to see if I can find one of those microwave shampoo caps.
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 08:09   email  this post